


Sufficient Heating

by wordsinbetween



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:09:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinbetween/pseuds/wordsinbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Sufficient heating would be nice in a blizzard,” she says, but her gaze softens as she pulls the blankets tighter around her chin. </i>
</p><p>  <i>“I thought you were Russian,” Clint says over his shoulder as he walks back to the kitchen, cursing as he trips over an empty dog bowl. </i></p><p>  <i>“I’ve adjusted,” she calls out.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sufficient Heating

The morning light is grey and bleak as it sneaks in from under the curtain edges. The wood flooring beneath Clint’s feet is cold enough that he can feel the chill bleed through his socks. The clock reads close to 9 am, but the dim natural light throws off his internal clock and he rubs at his tired eyes. Grabbing the hoodie that’s thrown across the back of the couch, he slips it on and makes his way towards the kitchen.

He flips on the coffee maker and appreciates his own habit of refilling it after every use, which means all he has to do every morning is hit “on”. He leans forward onto the counter and rests his chin in one hand while the other fiddles with some old receipt that’s been left lying around.

“Hey,” Clint calls out, voice still rough and quiet from sleep. Lucky, who’s still curled up on the rug with his tail wrapped around his nose, barely acknowledges him. Other than a quirk of one ear, he gets nothing in reply. If possible, Lucky curls himself up into a tighter little ball of golden fluff. Clint rolls his eyes. “So I take it you don’t want breakfast?”

As the machine starts to hiss and gurgle next to him, Clint turns and idly watches the steam drift into the still apartment. He takes a deep breath and sighs, the smell of fresh coffee following him as he wanders back into the living room. The old radiator by the window is ticking away, once in a while giving a good old thunk to let him know it’s still working. He frowns down at it, sighing because he knows it’s turned all the way up but damn is it still cold in here. Pushing aside the window curtain, Clint squints into the bright grey light outside, eyebrows raising because yeah, wow, the snow’s really coming down out there. He hopes Lucky doesn’t have to go out any time soon.

Behind him, a floorboard creaks with movement and there’s a rustle of blankets before the room falls silent again. “They weren’t kidding about the forecast this time. I don’t think we’re going anywhere today,” he says, pulling the curtain back into place and walking towards the couch. He rests his forearms on its back, peering down at the bundle of blankets curled up in the middle.

There’s a vague grumbling sound from one end of the little pile Natasha’s made herself into and Clint grins, reaching out a hand and poking at what he assumes is her side. He can make out a definite, frustrated-sounding “Clint!” this time and he chuckles, smiling down as her head lifts and her eyes peek out, scowling at him. “Sufficient heating would be nice in a blizzard,” she says, but her gaze softens as she pulls the blankets tighter around her chin.

They both look towards the rug as Lucky sneezes himself awake, slowly standing and stretching, his one eye blinking up at them as he wanders over to the couch. He sniffs at Natasha’s face with a cold nose and gets a warm smile and a scratch on the head in return. With a soft jump, Lucky’s on the couch next to her, leaning forward and quickly licking Clint’s cheek before curling up next to her.

“I thought you were Russian,” Clint says over his shoulder as he walks back to the kitchen, cursing as he trips over an empty dog bowl.

“I’ve adjusted,” she calls out.

“Yeah, okay,” he laughs, filling his mug with the fresh coffee and holding it tightly, absorbing the heat into his hands.

Natasha’s got one hand free from underneath the blankets, resting on top of Lucky’s golden fur, who’s quietly snoring again. Clint walks over and nudges her shoulder until she shifts enough for him to sit, and then he’s got a lap full of Natasha, along with probably half the blankets he owns and a deadweight, sleeping dog.

Propping his feet up on the coffee table, Clint turns on the TV and absently channel surfs, volume turned down to barely a murmur. His mug starts to cool in his hand, so he finishes it off and leans forward to carefully set it on the table without disturbing Natasha, who’s fast asleep against his side. As soon as he feels himself start to nod off too, suddenly the room goes still. He doesn’t hear it so much as he does feel it, the fans falling still and the TV going black, the random hum of the radiator gone. The cold begins to sink in through the window glass almost immediately, and Clint can’t help the frustrated groan as he runs a hand over his face. Really? Today, of all days?

“What’s wrong?” Natasha stirs beneath his other arm, blankets still wrapped closely around her body. He doubts she feels any difference in the temperature yet.

“Power’s out,” Clint says. “Hey, where’s my phone?”

“Charging. Mine’s right there,” she says, though her eyes stay shut and she doesn’t move a finger. He rolls his eyes and tries to guess where “right there” means this time, and spots it under a magazine on the coffee table. “Why?”

“Stark owes me a favor,” Clint says, smirking at her annoyed grumble when he moves to reach for the phone. As he scrolls through her contacts, he grabs the top blanket she’s wrapped in and pulls it off, laughing at her protests and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. She shuts up when he pulls her closer, until she’s curled against his chest with the stolen blanket wrapped around both of them. “It’s gonna get cold in here.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fluffiest thing I've written in years. I have no regrets.


End file.
